Our auditors, however, entertained very different opinions of right and wrong! “Poor fellow! he was much to be pitied: had done some very foolish things--to say the truth was a sad scoundrel--but then he was always so mad.” And having come unanimously to this decision, the conclave dispersed. Charles gave an additional proof of his madness within a week after this discussion by swallowing laudanum. The verdict of the coroner’s inquest confirmed the judgment of his four friends. For our own parts we must pause before we give in to so dangerous a doctrine. Here is a man who has outraged the laws of honour, the ties of relationship, and the duties of religion; he appears before us in the triple character of a libertine, a swindler, and a suicide. Yet his follies, his vices, his crimes, are all palliated or even applauded by this specious _façon de parler_--“He was mad--quite mad!” THE BOGLE OF ANNESLIE; OR, THE THREE-CORNERED HAT. A TALE. “An’ ye winna believe i’ the bogle?” said a pretty young lassie to her sweetheart, as they sat in the door of her father’s cottage one fine autumn evening. “Do you hear that, mither? Andrew ’ll no believe i’ the bogle.” “Gude be wi’ us, Effie!” exclaimed Andrew, a slender and delicate youth of about two-and-twenty, “a bonny time I wad hae o’t, gin I were to heed every auld wife’s clatter.” The words “auld wife” had a manifest effect on Effie, and she bit her lips in silence. Her mother immediately opened a battery upon the young man’s prejudices, narrating how that on Anneslie Heath, at ten o’clock at night, a certain apparition was wont to appear, in the form of a maiden above the usual size, with a wide three-cornered hat. Sundry other particulars were mentioned, but Andrew was still incredulous. “He’ll rue that, dearly will he rue’t!” said Effie, as he departed. Many days, however, passed away, and Effie was evidently much disappointed to find that the scepticism of her lover gathered strength. Nay, he had the audacity to insult, by gibes and jests, the true believers, and to call upon them for the reasons of their faith. Effie was in a terrible passion. At last, however, her prophecy was fulfilled. Andrew was passing over the moor, while the clock struck ten; for it was his usual practice to walk at that hour, in order to mock the fears of his future bride. He was just winding round the thicket which opened to him a view of the cottage where Effie dwelt, when he heard a light step behind him, and, in an instant, his feet were tripped up, and he was laid prostrate on the turf. Upon looking up he beheld a tall muscular man standing over him, who, in no courteous manner, desired to see the contents of his pocket. “De’il be on ye!” exclaimed the young forester, “I hae but ae coin i’ the warld.” “That coin maun I hae,” said his assailant. “Faith! I’se show ye play for’t then,” said Andrew, and sprang upon his feet.